What He Deserves
by Enaid Mora
Summary: Sherlock knew that John wasn't going to come back if he walked out that door right now because he would realize just how broken and ordinary Sherlock really was. ANGST LIKE WHOA


**AN: For mageflower. Some Johnlock with mentions of Johnstrade. Unbeta'd. Lots of angst. PLEASE REVIEW.**

**WARNINGS: ANGST LIKE WHOA  
**

**DISCLAIMER: DON'T OWN SHERLOCK  
**

Sherlock knew that John wasn't going to come back if he walked out that door right now because he would realize just how broken and ordinary Sherlock really was. How human and how imperfect he was. John would see how much he needed John but also how much he didn't need Sherlock. How Sherlock was becoming an anchor to unhappiness and pain. He would walk out of that door and find someone better, someone who could give John everything because while Sherlock knew everything he had nothing

Sherlock closed his eyes and felt the tears pool, knowing it was his fault they were fighting, that it was his fault John was going to leave and all he could do was stand there and let is happen. John deserved better so Sherlock let him have it, even though it meant destroying himself in the process. Moriarty didn't need to strap a bomb to John to destroy Sherlock's heart. Sherlock learned how to do it to himself.

John stared at Sherlock, unable to comprehend what was happening. Sherlock was leaving him. Sherlock was telling him to get out. Sherlock was throwing his things at him. John stood there, frozen. "What did I do?" John asked, unable to feel anything as he watched the man he loved try to remove him from his life.

Sherlock's eyes flashed to John's, dark and full of something threatening to unbalance the detective.

"YOU MADE ME LOVE YOU, JOHN. YOU MADE ME CARE AND THEN YOU DON'T NEED ME ANYMORE! YOU LEFT ME ADDICTED TO YOU! AND I CAN'T FIGHT IT AND YOU WILL LEAVE ME BECAUSE I'M NOT WHAT YOU NEED!"

John reached out to touch Sherlock, to tell him it was all false but Sherlock recoiled from his hand. "You are what I want Sherlock. You are all that I want."

Sherlock sneered. "Just because you want something doesn't mean you should have it. Leave, John. If you know what's good for you."

John shook his head. "No. I will not leave."

Sherlock took in John's stance, the stubborn set of his mouth and did something he never though he could do. He spewed everything that could possibly hurt John, poking at John's soft spots until the man bled, his pain almost more tangible than literal blood.

Sherlock destroyed John to save him. John would move on, find someone new. And that just left Sherlock alone his addiction. Sherlock knew John would never come back. Never provide Sherlock with his fix. John had moved on to better things, happiness and emotional stability.

John left him just like Sherlock knew he would but this time he chose it, refusing to be at the mercy of John's pitying eyes as he would tell Sherlock it isn't enough anymore. Now John has Greg, the sweet and smart detective inspector, a man who can hold him after his nightmares and that he can take home to his family. A man that can make John better without hurting him.

Sherlock has loneliness and the skull. Cocaine and cigarettes. They are constant companions, unable to take the sting off the hole Sherlock ripped out of his own chest. He stops solving crimes, stops helping the city he loves so much. His network falls apart, crime skyrockets, but Sherlock just sits in 221b, high and heartbroken, haunted and hurt.

He knows John tries to visit, he sends him letters and texts, leaves him voicemails and even yells through the door but Sherlock refuses to open it. Refuses to let John see him like can't hurt John anymore than he has. He never should have let ohn love him, never should have let John touch him, let John try to save him. The drugs would destroy John's happiness.

Mycroft visits, doesn't attempt to talk to Sherlock, just sits there, stroking his brother's sweaty hair like their mother used to when Sherlock had a nightmare. He can't visit often though.

Sherlock has nightmares where Moriarty kills John, where John kills Sherlock, where Sherlock kills John. It is blood and grief and Sherlock wakes up screaming, reaching for a body that isn't there. John hasn't been in his bed for months yet Sherlock still reaches out to it, craving the touch he can no longer have, his body yearning to feel the love he felt before. But it doesn't come. He suspects Irene visits once. She makes cooing noises and tries to tell him it's okay. But it's not okay. He should have never existed. Because he hurt John.

Mycroft eventually sends Sherlock to the country, to a lovely estate with bees and a garden A fully stocked lab and a huge slowly weens himself off the drugs, trying to pull himself together. Mycroft tells him John and Lestrade no longer live in London and Sherlock knows Mycroft is behind it. But he can't be angry with Mycroft because John and Lestrade deserve to have a fresh start, a place free of his shadow, somewhere where John can be happy again. Sherlock feels a bit better for it.

When Sherlock attends John's funeral he does so quietly, standing in the back, dressed in the style of suit John had always loved on him. He brought flowers tied up with violin strings. He is sad John never got to hear the piece of music he composed for him, the whole symphony he wrote but knows it's better this way. John had moved on.

Lestrade's eyes are swollen but he can still recognize Sherlock, who looks older than him, the years after John left filled with drugs and lack of eating. He meets Sherlock's eyes searching them. Sherlock smiles sadly, knowing the pain Greg feels. He lays the lowers down by John's grave, caressing the letters on the tombstone before walking over to Lestrade.

Sherlock embraces him, not saying a word. John is dead. killed by cancer. He died weak and in pain, far too soon. Lestrade is left with the emptiness but none of the hope. Sherlock knows nothing can fill the hole John filled. He lets go of Lestrade and walks away, playing John's symphony in his head, picturing John's laughing face.

It should be Sherlock in the ground, not John. John had so much more to offer, so much more to give. Sherlock was a broken man, clinging to memories.

Two weeks later a truck full of boxes arrived at Lestrade's house. They were full of crimes solved, cold cases and current ones spanning over the years Greg had was a note on top written in the distinctive hand of a former consulting detective. "This is all for John. He deserved a better world than the one I gave him. Now I will make the world better."Underneath the note there was a CD, full of violin music. Lestrade knew what is was. It was John. Sherlock had captured John's soul and made it into music, allowing Greg to feel like he had him again.

Months went by with more boxes appearing, little stories and jokes about John, small things that Greg didn't know. These boxes came for three years.

The day the last boxes arrived a small obituary ran in the newspaper. Former Consulting Detective Dead. It was an overdose. The date of his death was the day he first met John.

Lestrade cried for the first time since John's funeral. Sherlock died never knowing how much better he made the world. That was John's last request. To let Sherlock know how he had fixed hurt knowing that Sherlock had died alone and in so much pain when he had deserved to be loved just as much as John.


End file.
